


Strength

by e_wills



Category: How to Train Your Dragon (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-13
Updated: 2018-12-13
Packaged: 2019-09-17 09:35:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16972131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/e_wills/pseuds/e_wills
Summary: Astrid recognizes that Hiccup is strong- but not in the traditional sense. Perhaps this is better.





	Strength

Everyone knew Astrid was physically tougher than her boyfriend. That had been no big secret, old news; so she did not understand  _why_  Snotlout was still amused by the idea.

Perhaps it was just because he was Snotlout, and Hiccup was Hiccup, and there was something about their personalities that conflicted on a very fundamental level? It kept them in a perpetual state of rivalry, or else a reluctant and often strained camaraderie.

Over the years, Hiccup had built up a tolerance for his cousin’s overwhelming idiocy, and he had to talk Astrid down from wrapping her slender fingers around Snotlout’s thick throat more than once. In addition to Hiccup’s seemingly boundless patience, he had also had an inherent, self-deprecating sense of humor, which kept the criticisms and snide remarks from bothering him too much.

“I honestly don’t care,” he told her as they strolled out of the mead hall together, “and I wish you wouldn’t.”

“But you’re  _not_ weak and Snotlout is a moron,” she insisted.

“No, you’re right. I’m a paragon of Viking strength,” he replied sarcastically.

“Hiccup…”

“Look, Astrid. I’ve come a long way, I’ll give you that, but we both know I won’t be winning any arm-wrestling or hammer-throwing contests around here, anytime soon. And you know what?”

“ _Hiccup_ —“

“I’m _okay_  with that. I have other methods of accomplishing things—ones that don’t require the use of my fists.”

Astrid sighed, linking an arm with his as they made their way back towards the village proper. They were on their way to the stables, and Astrid could not think of anywhere else she would rather be, if it not by his side. The two of them, already so close, were becoming inseparable whenever Hiccup’s feet were on the ground. It was making it harder to maintain the pretense that they did _not_ already have extensive intimate knowledge of each other—though village certainly had its suspicions.

As they made their way down the stairs towards the stables, Astrid was slightly distracted by the clinking of Hiccup’s prosthetic against the stone with every other step that he took. She often forgot he even had the thing—not that it bothered her. He was just so nonchalant about it, that it was rarely the topic of conversation, unlike the other Vikings she knew who were missing some of their limbs. They never ceased complain about their aches and pains, but Hiccup had never joined in on the self-pity. He did not see the point in it. That was not to say he was not, nor never had been, in a significant amount of pain. 

Astrid could recall, immediately after the amputation, Hiccup limped around for Berk about a week, adjusting to the new leg Gobber had so generously fitted him with. He would wince or swear under his breath when he thought no one could hear him, but every time Astrid had asked him if he was hurting, he would deny it. It had to have been killing him, but he never would confess any of that to her—not then, and not in the present. He had become much better at managing the discomfort. It probably helped that he had finally upgraded his prosthetic to a model that seemed much more ergonomically designed, and better suited to his particular needs.

Astrid admired him for it, she had to admit. Not that she envied any loss of limb, but Hiccup’s attitude about the whole experience was inspiring. It all could have been avoided if his father had listened to his warning about the Red Death lying in wait on Dragon Island. Perhaps a different solution could have been found—one in which Hiccup could have remained wholly intact?

Still, Hiccup did not blame Stoick for anything—not directly, anyway. Nor did he find it the least bit remarkable that he had suffered such sacrifice and personal injury for a village of people who had shunned and despised him for nearly his entire life (albeit, he had done plenty to attract negative attention, even by his own admittance). When Astrid had asked him about it, he shrugged and said he was doing what needed to be done, and there was nothing more special about his actions than that. He neither expected nor desired any kind of praise or admiration, though people gave it to him freely now that he had nearly been killed for them. 

Astrid knew his strength went deeper still. 

As the future chief, people were relying on him, and there had been several instances over the years were Berk had encountered a crisis. Whether it had been Dagur the Deranged, Alvin the Treacherous, or the Screaming Death, Hiccup had risen to the challenge. While everyone went hysterical around him, Hiccup remained calm and collected. The more things fell apart, the more he kept it together for everyone else—regardless if he felt any internal panic. 

He would always have the answers, and he would always have the solutions. He was keystone that kept Berk standing—more so than the dragons, and more so than even his own father. 

Stoick the Vast and the elder men on Berk were relics of a bygone era where swords and shields and fists were all one needed to be victorious, but the times were shifting. Berk needed a chief that could adapt to any problem—someone who was well-rounded, with a level head and even temper.

Hiccup was all of those things, gentle in his approach but unshakable in his resolve. He may not have been the burliest Viking on Berk, but he was every bit as bold and unyielding in the strength of his spirit.

It took someone with a great deal of mental and emotional fortitude to take on the burden of leadership without cracking under the stress, especially when he was such a reluctant chief-to-be. 

Perhaps that was why very few people dared to challenge him outright? 

Snotlout, while unrelenting in his verbal assaults, had long since withheld any kind of physical battery of his cousin. It was not that he, nor anyone else, believed Hiccup to be some secret and untapped well of Viking muscle. Instead, it was the sense of strength he exuded from his very soul, which commanded some measure respect. While he was still made of flesh and bone, able to bruise and fracture, his spirit was immutable. Hiccup could not be broken.

 _That_  was real strength, muscles be damned.

**Author's Note:**

> If you like my work, please leave a comment. This ficlet is older. I imported it here to spare it from Tumblr's latest shenanigans.


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